It’s Sunday night. First day of official Spring. It’s been a busy day, yet I haven’t left my house. Overcast chilly day, but on yesterday’s walk there were daffodil buds. Spent a lovely hour or so today on a zoom session with David Whyte doing one of his Sunday series. If you’re not familiar with his work, check it out. He’s an Anglo-Irish poet whose philosophy is based upon “the controversial nature of reality.” Let your mind wrap around that one for awhile.

Meanwhile, my 94 year old brother is still in hospital with a foot infection and still mysterious other symptoms. My daughter has been with him every day trying to coordinate his care and although he has dementia (like our mother) he recognizes and responds to her. It’s been difficult from my perspective to not be there to help. He is thirteen years older and was my hero as I grew up in a difficult family situation. Yet I feel I cannot put myself into a hospital environment at my definitely “over 65” age due to COVID or I’d be there with him.

On another note: I am so pleased that my new book of poems has just been released. I like the way it turned out. It is available on Amazon and directly through the publisher, Nighthawk Press, Taos, NM. Or directly from me, of course—just request it here, leave your email & I’ll send you the details. I will share with you here, the first poem in the book that overall, is about time, love, loss—usual suspects seen through my eyes and pen. For those those of you who know me, you know I tend to always have some sort of camera in my hands—indeed since 4th grade—with my Brownie Hawkeye. Now it’s mostly my iPhone camera, so handy, and I still love and use my ‘real’ cameras. There are a scattering of photos in the book. Wish I still had that Hawkeye, though. 

Let me hear from you. I want to know you’re out there! Stay well…

My Hands

hold a camera
observe    pull back
lens between me and the world
drama or   drown in a river
of craving or elation 

required & unrequited loves

nearly visible stretch of future

so carelessly consumed

when storms come

I’ll pack my bag    return

when the sun comes out again

wind stops   safety overrated

I want the susurration & power

a force greater than me

a constant rhythm that follows

breath    heartbeat    nights awake

or soothed in a cradle

endlessly rocking

as the old poet said

a long time ago

Crazy March

It’s a snowy, windy, sleety Saturday. I received in today’s mail a skein of sock yarn that I was compelled to try out immediately. It’s Waki Saki by Wisdom Yarns—an interesting combination of fibers: 50% merino wool, 25% bamboo, 25% nylon. So soft. I located my favorite old well-used Kollage square double-point needles & got down do it. As I worked I heard the wind outside my window & listened to a chapter of Harry Potter (book 4 or 5) on my AirPods (love those pods!). The yarn is lovely in shades of purples, pinks, lavender. It stripes & self-patterns as I knit—somewhat like the magic in HP—my wand being my needles. Years ago when self-patterning sock yarns first came out I got hooked and hundreds of socks later I’m still loving those yarns. I haven’t knit anything other than socks for several years and only when I’m watching movies or listening to books or music. Also still liking the HP books and J.K. Rowling’s intelligent writing. Way back in 2002, I designed and published in Interweave Knits magazine, a Harry Potter sweater pattern along with a short essay that accompanied it. At the time I was heavily into knitting anything, everything, designing, writing, working part time in a yarn shop, editing an annual literary anthology, and marketing my husband’s art. I was thrilled to be in Interweave (they’d already published an essay of mine in their defunct supplement) but they wanted more designs. I was faced with the decision to design or write. I chose writing but never stopped knitting. Just pared it down to socks. Because, as head wizard Dumbledore said, “one can never have enough [knitted wool] socks. People will insist on giving me books.”

And speaking of books, my newest just hit Amazon. A collection of poems: There Was Always Enough Time. It can be ordered from Amazon or publisher, Nighthawk Press, Taos, NM. Since my copies have been delayed (due to snow & ice?), I cannot post a photo.  Meanwhile, here’s an excerpt from a chapter in my first book (2017): From Salt to Sage: A Memoir: (2nd Printing 2022 & not about knitting, but it does creep into an unrelated story or two). Stay tuned.

                                                                    Gull Wing

“…I came across an old spiral journal with notes on knitting designs and items I’d made, as well as interesting names of stitches and their histories. I had used the information in a couple of articles I’d written for craft/design magazines. There are many vintage names and histories for knitting stitches, and many were listed in my notebook. One of those, called The Gull Wing, evoked thoughts about my father Dominic, the fisherman, who earned a hard living as an auto mechanic but whose head was always in the salty wind and whose feet were in the sea….

Like my father, I am an escape artist. My path is through words, books, imagination, yarn and color. I get lost in the poetic names of knitting stitches: Sailor’s Rib, Seaweed, Four Winds, Dotted Wave. Gull Wing.”

She’s Back! (again)

 

It has been quite a long time since I wrote in this space. I needed a sabbatical. Needed to internalize personal loss and gain. Did I miss it? Not until recently when a few friends asked about it, said they missed it & encouraged me to return. One friend said it was more authentic in some ways than facebook postings. 

We have so far—family and friends—survived the pandemic and have begun to reach out again, maskless, vaccinated, boostered, ready to roll. My heart goes out to those who have gotten seriously ill and still feeling the effects or have lost someone. Of course, the horror of what is happening in Ukraine is a presence in my mind as I go about my daily life. Thankful that I have a daily life. This neighborhood where I live now has a large population of Russians and most probably Ukraines. I do not know them personally, but I pass them on walks in the park around which our homes and apartments are located. They look somber—even the ubiquitous grandmas pushing bundled-up-against-the-cold babies in their prams, the ones who previously have always looked contented, even smug—look worried now & deadly serious. 

I changed the blog profile photo to my new badass self (even with all the reflections in the mirrored sunglasses). Because, frankly, I feel that way: Badass.  (At least to myself. Who knows what others think?). Maybe it’s just that I’m eighty-one now, writing, knitting (socks mostly), still taking pictures, loving, looking toward my new book coming out this month, There Was Always Enough Time, a collection of poems. I will share these posts on facebook, also, so if you are reading this and would like to be a “fb friend” please do so. I’d like to connect again or meet you. Due to arrive this month, besides official Spring, is the 2nd Printing of my 2017 book, From Salt to Sage, A Memoir. I will try out new material on you, my readers, too. My partner’s book, The Evolution of Freud was released yesterday, already with great reviews. More on that later, too. 

I looked through my new material to find a poem or haibun to add to this note but what comes up consistently is a poem by Adam Zagajewski called “To Go To Lvov” and it fits what is going on in Ukraine & Russia. I do not have permission to post the whole poem here, but the first few lines will pull you in and you will be able to find it easily online in its entirety. 

“To go to Lvov. Which station/for Lvov, if not in a dream, at dawn, when dew/gleams on a suitcase, when express/trains and bullet trains are being born. To leave/in haste for Lvov, night or day, in September/or in March…”

Until we meet again…